


Face-Making

by Ryuutchi



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Community: undermistletoe, F/M, Pregnancy, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-11
Updated: 2010-10-11
Packaged: 2017-10-12 14:50:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryuutchi/pseuds/Ryuutchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sneaking into the Company's prison facility probably should have been harder then it was, but Angela Petrelli wasn't much one to let little obstacles like security guards and steel walls get in her way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Face-Making

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the undermistletoe Harlequin Week Challenge (Prompt: The Executive's Surprise Baby)

Sneaking into the Company's prison facility probably should have been harder then it was, but Angela Petrelli wasn't much one to let little obstacles like security guards and steel walls get in her way. She didn't want anyone to know about her visit-- not her husband and certainly not Robert Bishop. So she slipped around a back way she'd learned of when their group had chosen that specific building. It took some doing and a bit of "convincing" one of the security guards that he should let her go by, but she managed to work her way in. Once inside, no one particularly cared who she was so long as she ignored them and strode down the claustrophobic hallways like she owned them.

She knew for a fact her destination wasn't guarded. Angela thought it foolhardy to ignore the room's contents the way Bob tried to, but she could almost forgive him. The man tried to pretend he wasn't frightened. Angela knew better. She was terrified by the room's contents. Terrified, fascinated, and a little bit irrationally in love with one Adam Monroe.

Angela had never liked Adam, not since the first day he barged into her husband's office, Daniel Linderman in tow, and demanded a meeting. It had been the expression in his eye when he looked at her—like she was less than nothing, letting his gaze sweep over her and back to Arthur—that made the first bloom of heat rush up her cheeks and her fists clench to keep from reaching out and convincing him to throw himself off a rooftop for her. She kept her tongue, and played the dutiful wife, fingers digging into her palm every time Adam's bright blue eyes skimmed over her like she was just a piece of furniture. Her husband and Daniel at least glanced her way for approval every so often, but Adam, the way he would hop out of his chair and pace over to the set of earlier Edo period swords hanging on the wall, coming close enough to touch, never seemed to even care that she existed. It twisted her up until she wanted to rake her nails across his angular face.

It took her until the third meeting, just Adam, Arthur and her that time, in the Petrelli's sitting room to figure out why the men leaned in to smile at him as soon as he walked through the door and listened attentively to every word he said. That was the first time Adam deigned to notice her, sharp blue eyes pinning her down, and a mocking smile pulling at the edges of his lips. The heat came back in full force, but instead of rushing up her neck and over her cheeks, it pooled somewhere low in her belly. Her fists clenched again, the usual anger at being relegated to part of the surroundings muting for that suddenly, painfully bright moment. And then he dismissed her again and the anger bubbled back up, all more intense for being briefly illuminated.

That was then. Now... now, she still hated Adam Monroe, but she was more cognizant of her reasons. Angela's hand snaked across her stomach, rubbing the still-flat plane that wouldn't stay flat very long. She swallowed hard, silently scolding herself for the way her heart raced at the thought of opening the cell door, for just one moment letting the insane, insanely charismatic, murderous bastard have a glimpse of the outside world. Every sense seemed to awaken, her muscles rattling with the shock of fear and anticipation that came with the very idea of sliding into the cell and looking directly into Adam's eyes again.

She could imagine what Adam would say, the way his lips would curl in that dry smile and the way his accent would wrap around his words when she walked in. "They sent a new piece of art down," he'd say, "I was getting bored of the blank walls. I suppose this is better than nothing." That was better. Angry heat loosened the knot settling in her stomach.

Anger had always been her refuge from Adam. She had to hate him for charming his way into her life. But the second time he looked at her, really looked at her, piercing eyes pinning her as firmly as a pin in a butterfly, she stumbled from the way desire boiled over, making her legs threaten to give out. Adam seemed to know his effect, because he caught her in strong, lanky arms, pressing them both against the wall in a swift movement. One arm wrapped around her waist, the other brushed hair from her face. His hands were warm and dry-- Angela swallowed thickly, turning her head into the touch without really intending to. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Petrelli," Adam said, voice smooth and pleased in her ear, "I hope you're all right." It was all wrong as far as Angela was concerned, the way they were pressed together, the way she could feel how strong he was, despite his deceptively wiry frame, but her voice seemed to have been lost, and she made a low sound, clutching at Adam's shoulders.

His lips brushed down the shell of her ear, and Adam lay his cheek against her neck, hot breath gusting over the sensitive skin. Angela bit back a moan but couldn't help the way her hips arched a little. "Well, aren't you eager," Adam laughed into her neck and let go.

Angela's first thought was to feel bereft, cold. But her second was to throw something heavy at his head. Adam was saved from a large dent to the skull only by the lack of objet d'art near at hand. So instead he smiled and gave her that look which had become far too common, the one where he dismissed her as unworthy of note, and completely forgot about her. The anger returned tinged with a vicious hatred, and dug in deep.

She clung to her anger as she stepped into his cell. Blank gray concrete with steel fixtures, nothing that could be used as a weapon. Nothing to break the monotony. And Adam lay sprawled on the metal cot in a thin cotton t-shirt and loose white pants, one hand flung over his face. He sat up sharply when she let the door slam shut, clearly startled, and Angela let a smile slip out at the shock that skittered across his face before he composed himself. "Angela. Come to laugh?"

"I'm pregnant," she replied bluntly.

"You look it," he responded, lying back on the cot.

She stiffened, lips pressing together and he smirked at her from under pale lashes. "It's yours," she said.

Adam sat up again. Angela steeled herself against the way his blue eyes tore into her, crossing her arms defensively across her chest. "Does Arthur know? That his beloved, obedient wife is a bloody trollop?" he said, thin lips twisting with disgust. Hurt soured the mix of emotions raging through her veins-- she should have known he could do that. It wasn't the old-fashioned word, sounding perfectly at home on his tongue, but instead the skin-flaying tone of voice that made her iron-clad control fray dangerously. She knew it must be obvious how much she hated him, her cheeks burned with an angry blush and she could barely hold herself back from jumping at him to tear out his mocking tongue with her own hands.

"As much as he knows that his old friend slept with almost everyone in our group but him," she said.

"What makes you think it was everyone but him?" Adam bared his teeth in a mirthless smile and Angela couldn't stand it. All the rage and fear and pain warring in the pit of her stomach seethed up and out. With a wordless snarl she crossed the space between them in the blink of an eye, grabbing for his throat. On his feet in that instant, Adam grabbed her wrists, pulling them up over her head with a none-too-gentle jerk, leaving Angela growling and struggling in his grip. "You can't hurt me, sweetheart, even if you want to." She hissed something incomprehensible, not quite sure herself what she'd been intending to say, and swung her foot at his crotch.

With an easy movement, Adam threw her into the wall. The impact knocked the wind and fight out of her and she braced herself against the concrete, trying to catch her breath. Before she could manage to regain her balance, Adam was on top of her again, his lips bruisingly hard against hers, biting and sucking on her lips, angry and horny, and more than a little vicious. She arched up against him, kissing back, all sharp teeth, hot lips, and sucking on his tongue until she couldn't stand it and bit down hard. Angela tasted the iron of his blood, then he moved his head, sucking a line of brutal kisses down her throat hard enough to leave red marks that would last for days. Sliding her hands up under the loose cotton shirt, she dug her sharp nails into the soft skin of his back, smiling in triumph at the quiet hiss of pain against her shoulder. Her triumph was short-lived.

"You're a piece of work," Adam said, voice laced with a groan. Angela's legs spread almost instantly when he insinuated his knee between her thighs, putting tantalizing pressure where she most wanted him. He shoved her harder, dragging her skirt up with one hand, and Angela hitched her leg high on his waist, feeling his cock press, burning hot, against the inside of her thigh as she rocked against him.

Angela cursed him out, her voice going hoarse from suppressed moans. "Adam, dammit, Adam," she started, but apparently he'd had enough, and reached down, pushing her panties out of the way and sliding two fingers inside of her, his thumb pressed against her clit in a way that made her writhe and moan pitifully. She wanted to curse him out more, tell him to stop dicking around, but Angela wasn't sure she could put together an entire coherent sentence so she lunged up, capturing Adam's lips for another desperate, bruising kiss, one that he eagerly lost himself in too. Unwilling to lose the advantage, he twisted his fingers, doing something inside her that made her keen into the kiss and hitch her leg higher.

She could barely think coherently from wanting more than his fingers inside her, so she all but fucked herself on his slender-fingered hand. "Easy, girl," Adam laughed, mockery wrapping around every syllable, but the way he shoved his pants down, grabbed her hips under her skirt and thrust inside, almost lifting her off the ground, was testament to how much he wanted her. For a few moments, Angela could barely breath, let alone think, so she dragged her nails so hard into his back that she could feel the sticky wetness of blood. The next moment Adam was fucking her against the wall with bruising force, like he had to show her who was in control and would never have another chance.

Adam left his marks on her, and Angela bit and scratched, trying to leave her own marks as they built to a climax. She came hard, spasming around him. A moment later he joined her, hands squeezing painfully on her flesh.

Angela remembered the last time Adam touched her-- it wasn't gentle, Adam had never been a gentle man. He liked to bait her, get her mad and then pin her down and helpless. But that time he'd been almost solicitous, like he'd known that would be the last time in comfort. It was impossible for Adam to have known what his group of disciples was planning, but he'd cupped her breasts, sucked on her nipples and fucked her on his hand before fucking her for real. He hadn't left bruises that time. He'd left something more real.

She adjusted her clothing and stepped back towards the door. "You're never going to see me again," she told him, the newly acquired personal space lending her the strength to settle her usual no-nonsense mask back in place. "And I wanted to let you know personally that you'll never see your son." With those words, and barely a glance at Adam's slouched form on the bed, she turned on her heels and left the cell.


End file.
